It's a Dirty Job
by Deana
Summary: Trying to catch a thief lands Aramis in a real mess. (My entry in the April 'Fete des Mousquetaires' contest!) Part of my modern AU.


**It's a Dirty Job**  
A Musketeers story by Deana

This is my entry in the April 'Fete des Mousquetaires' contest: mud!

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"Time to check in. D'Artagnan?"

"All clear."

"Athos?"

"All clear."

"Porthos?"

"All clear."

"Aramis?"

Aramis raised a hand to touch his earwig. "All clear." He listened to other police teams check in as he quickly shoved his hand back into his pocket.

It was cold. Really, it was 60 degrees, but cloudy and windy after a heavy rainstorm had rolled through overnight. Aramis had an intolerance to the cold, and where the others were wearing a light jacket, he had on a long-sleeved shirt under a thick hoodie under _his_ jacket. He'd wanted to wear gloves, but knew that they would get in his way if he needed to use his gun.

The chilly wind blew into Aramis' face, and he snuggled his cold nose into his scarf as he walked down a path in Central Park. A serial mugger had been robbing people every day for a week, and they hoped to catch him before he could do it again.

Aramis' stomach rumbled with hunger. He hadn't had a chance to eat breakfast before they headed over to the park, because he had to wait an hour after taking his thyroid pill before he could eat. They'd headed straight there and Aramis had been too half-asleep to think of picking up an egg mcmuffin from Dunkin Donuts along the way. That could've been a perfect cover for him; just some guy eating breakfast in the park. _It's too late now!_ he thought to himself as his stomach growled again.

Ahead of him, a man was coming up the path towards him and Aramis was instantly on alert, until he gave Aramis a bright smile as he passed him by.

Aramis politely smiled back and kept walking, but he turned to see where the man went from there…to find that he hadn't gone anywhere.

"Gimme your wallet," the man said, pointing what appeared to be a gun through his jacket pocket.

Aramis slowly raised a hand towards his ear. "Sorry, what did you say?" he asked, pretending that he couldn't hear him well and touching the ear wig that he wore.

"I said gimme your wallet!"

Aramis displayed an expression of shock. "You want my wallet?" he said, knowing that the other cops would hear him.

The man held out his other hand for it and nervously looked around. "Now!"

Aramis pretended that he was taking it out, but then he quickly shot out his hands and grabbed the gun through the man's pocket, pushing it to the side and trying to grab it from him.

The only thing was…there was no gun.

The man violently reached out and pushed Aramis, who didn't expect the thief to react so quickly. He fell sideways even as he pulled out his gun, and landed with a thud on his right hip. "Stop or I'll shoot!" he shouted.

The man continued to run.

Aramis quickly got to his feet and ran after him, limping at first from the pain in his hip.

"Aramis! Where are you?!" various voices were shouting.

"The south side of the park!" he answered as he followed the man into the woods. "He's five-ten, green jacket, black jeans, not armed."

"We're coming!" Porthos told him.

"Stop!" Aramis yelled again.

The man kept going, careening to the side and going around some bushes.

Aramis followed, and gave a gasp of shock when his feet suddenly went out from under him and he fell flat on the ground on his back. A loud *splat* filled the air, but before he even had a chance to take a breath, the man was looming over him grabbing for the gun. He easily outweighed Aramis by thirty or forty pounds, and punched him hard in the face.

Aramis' vision swirled, but he kept hold of the gun and tried to wrench it away.

The thief elbowed Aramis in the stomach just as Aramis shoved his left knee at the man's most sensitive area. The blow to Aramis' stomach wasn't as bad as it could've been, and the guy gave a cry of pain.

Still trying to wrest the gun away, Aramis gave a gasping laugh and tried to roll over in an attempt to gain the upper hand.

The thief recovered from the blow quicker than Aramis expected, and he continued the roll so Aramis couldn't get on top.

Voices were yelling in Aramis' ear, and he realized that no one could find them, not knowing that they'd gone into the woods. He couldn't talk though—he could hardly breathe as he used all of his strength to keep the gun.

The thief was very strong, and managed to turn the gun towards Aramis, pointing it towards the ground on the left side of Aramis' head.

Aramis knew that he might be dead in a minute, so he quickly made a choice.

*BAM*

The gun went off right beside his ear, startling the thief into losing his grip, and providing the other policemen with a clue as to their location. Aramis closed his eyes with a gasp as his ear and head exploded with pain, but he pointed the gun at the thief, who had scrambled back when the gun had fired. "You're under arrest," he said.

Voices could suddenly be heard as policemen ran into the woods, and the thief tried to run…but he had nowhere to go.

"Aramis!" Porthos exclaimed.

Aramis tried to sit up, but all he managed to do was roll over with a *splat*.

"Aramis!"

"Here."

Everyone stared in shock at their friend, who was laying face down on the ground completely covered with mud.

"Aramis!" Porthos exclaimed again, quickly kneeling and grabbing his shoulders to roll him over.

Aramis opened his eyes, seeing the concerned faces of Porthos, Athos, d'Artagnan, and Treville staring at him. "Hi," he weakly said. "Did we get him?"

" _You_ got him," said Treville. "And I'm not surprised at all."

More than one handkerchief suddenly started wiping at his face, and Aramis winced, closing his eyes.

"You stay with us, now," said Porthos, keeping pressure on a wound beside his left eye. "You're bleedin' like a slaughtered pig."

Aramis reopened his eyes. "Bleeding?" His head was ringing and spinning so much that he couldn't think straight, and wondered if he'd accidentally shot himself when he'd fired the gun so close to his head.

"Looks like he got you good," said d'Artagnan. "There's blood all over the guy's knuckles."

"Oh," Aramis said. "I thought that was mud on my face."

"It's blood," said Athos. "You're slipping, Aramis."

Aramis chuckled, before wincing again.

"Let's go," said Treville. "A trip to the hospital is in order. You probably need stitches."

Aramis sighed and let them help him to his feet, where he wavered dangerously. "Remind me never to…do that…again," he said, with a gasp as his head and ear throbbed.

"Do what?" Treville asked.

"Fire a gun beside my own ear," said Aramis, leaning against Porthos, who slowly helped him walk.

"You what?!" said Porthos.

"Had to," Aramis said, wincing. "It…startled him…into letting go."

Everyone shot each other incredulous glances.

"It hurts, but it worked," Aramis told them.

That was true; he was _alive_.

Aramis' knees buckled and Porthos quickly hefted him up higher. "Hey, I'm gonna carry you if you do that again."

Aramis' head dropped to Porthos' shoulder with a *splat*, but he quickly lifted it and nearly passed out from the motion. "I'm getting mud all over you!"

"That's the least of our worries," said Athos, gripping his arm on the other side.

"That's all right, Aramis," said Porthos. "You know what they say; it's a dirty job, but _someone's_ gotta do it!"

THE END


End file.
